


Bad Timing

by queenhomeslice



Series: I Wanna Ride My Chocoboy All Day: Prompto/Reader Stories [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Chubby Reader, Curvy Reader, Daddy Prompto, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vomiting, fat reader, plus size reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Your reproductive organs actually work, despite what you've thought your whole life
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Reader
Series: I Wanna Ride My Chocoboy All Day: Prompto/Reader Stories [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554340
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	Bad Timing

**Author's Note:**

> This is me living vicariously through fanfiction because I'm feeling pretty down about my infertility today  
> _______  
> Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Square Enix or any production studios behind the Final Fantasy franchise or Final Fantasy XV; I am not making money from this work and I do not own the rights to FF in any way.

Ignis pulls the Regalia into Hammerhead, next to the gas pumps. Gladio hops out to pump the gas, and the adviser strolls into Takka’s diner to collect the bounties you’ve all completed. Noctis makes his way over to the garage to get Cid to make improvements on his sword. Prompto climbs out of the front, stretching, and turns to you. 

You’re in the back seat, sweating bullets for no discernable reason. You’re feeling nauseated, and your stomach feels like lead. You close your eyes, thankful that it’s getting dark. It’s the caravan tonight, thank the gods. A shitty couch mattress is better than the cold hard ground of a haven any day. 

“Hey,” says Prompto. “Are you okay? You look...sick.” He frowns. “You’ve been acting off for a couple of weeks.” 

You shake your head. “I’m fine,” you croak out. But it’s a lie—you really do feel like shit, and you can’t figure out why. 

Prompto holds out his hand. “Let’s go get something to eat at the diner? I have some pocket change, I’m sure I can afford some fries or something.” 

You manage a weak smile at your boyfriend and allow Prompto to take your hand and pull you from the back seat. The two of you walk into Takka’s, where Ignis is exchanging money and pouring over the new postings for the hunter’s guild. He smiles at you at first, but then frowns when the two of you slide into a booth and your clammy head hits the cold plastic table. 

“What’s wrong?” asks Ignis, hurrying over after pocketing the caravan keys. He sits opposite you and Prompto—the blond is rubbing soft circles into your back. 

“Just tired,” you whisper, but you’ve never been able to really lie to Ignis. 

“____________,” says Ignis. “What is wrong?” 

“Feel sick,” you finally confess. “Like I’m gonna vomit.” 

Ignis goes pale and checks his recipe book. “The last thing we all ate was the daggerquill rice,” he says. “Prompto, are you all right?” 

“I’m great, Igster. That dinner was super good.” 

“Are you allergic to any foods I might have used?” 

You shake your head. “This far into the trip—I would’ve known if I was allergic to anything by now.” 

“Have you been hit with any status effects?” 

You shake your head. 

Ignis taps his chin thoughtfully, then looks at Prompto. “When was the last time you two were intimate?” 

Prompto blushes tomato-red and coughs nervously. “Uh, I guess...a couple of days ago? We uh. We did it in the tent while you were out gathering wild veggies, and Noct and Gladio were out fishing...” 

Ignis nods, unbothered. “____________, when was the date of your last menstrual cycle?” He pulls up the calendar app on his phone. 

_That_ gets your attention. You snap your head up at manage to focus your vision. Prompto’s jaw almost literally falls to the table. “What,” you groan, “are you saying?” 

“Do you know?” Ignis asks nonchalantly. “I recorded your last one as being June third through the seventh.” 

You nod, trusting him. You didn’t know he was actually keeping up with something so trivial as your periods, but leave it to Ignis to be more detail-oriented than necessary. “Sounds right, I guess.” 

Ignis lifts an eyebrow. “It’s August second. Have you bled since June?” 

You blink at him, then turn to Prompto, who’s got a really, really strange expression on his face. “Uh,” you say. “...No? Now that I think about it, I guess I haven’t?” 

Ignis nods. “Perhaps you should go see if the convenient store has a test.” 

“A test,” Prompto repeats, face draining of color. 

Ignis nods, pocketing his phone and rising. “The sooner we know, the better.” He heads for the door. “I’m going to place our belongings in the caravan, but there’s a hunt we can do tonight. A red giant, if you’re feeling up to it. I’ll ask Noct.” Ignis leaves the diner, the little door chime ringing after him. 

Prompto’s eyes haven’t left your face. He’s wide-eyed and looks scared shitless. “Is Ignis saying that you’re...” 

“There’s no way,” you say, pushing Prompto out of the booth anyway. “You know stress can stop a woman from having a period. There’s lots of reasons I could’ve skipped one. You know I’ve got fucked up hormones. Probably just one of those months.” You stumble from the diner into the little convenient store and to the personal products aisle. There’s only one brand of pregnancy test, but you pull what little cash you have from your pocket and pay for it, just making it to the bathroom in time to hurl your lunch and most recent snack into the toilet. 

You hear the door open—you'd forgotten to lock it in your rush—and Prompto gently pulls your hair back from around your face and holds it as you vomit. When you’re finished, you stand on shaky legs and move to the sink, cupping water in your hands, drinking it down your now-itchy throat. You wet your hands with soap and water and wash your face, blinking into the mirror as you dry it with paper towels. You really do look like shit, and the color of your face is way off. 

Prompto flushes the toilet. “Better?” he asks sadly. 

You nod and fiddle with the box, pulling out the directions and giving them a once-over before tossing them and the box. Prompto kneels and holds the test in shaky hands as you pull down your jeans and underwear, then hands it to you so you can hold it under yourself. 

You bring the test up and stare at it. Thirty seconds later, you’re blinking back tears of surprise and disbelief as Ignis’ suspicions are confirmed. You drop your hand and stare at Prompto. 

“What did it...” Prompto looks down at the test in your hand. In the little digital window is an unmistakable plus sign. He squeals and claps his hand over his mouth, then looks back up at you. 

You sniff hard as you wipe yourself and hand the test to him, flushing the toilet and dressing. “I guess Ignis was right,” you say softly. “I’m sorry Prompto, we should’ve been more careful, I should’ve asked for the pill before we left for the trip, I...” 

Prompto sniffs hard—he's crying, and he pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I’m...I’m gonna be a dad...” 

“You want this?” You step up close to him, hugging him close. “I don’t want to put any pressure on you—if you’re not ready, Prom, it’s okay, I mean, I can manage on my own...” 

“What the hell do you mean?” Prompto pulls his hands away and hugs you back, positively beaming at you through misty eyes. “This is the greatest day of my life. I’m going to be a dad, with _you_. Of course I want this. We both knew the risks when we started sleeping together. I just...didn’t expect it to happen so _soon_...” Prompto chokes back another sob and hugs you tightly, resting his head on top of yours. “I’m going to be a father...” He buries his face in your hair. 

You sniff back tears of your own as you grip the pregnancy test in your hands and hug him back. You never expected to even get pregnant—doctors in your early adolescence were adamant that the plethora of hormonal issues that you had would be a huge barrier to pregnancy, possibly even rendering you infertile. But it seems the gods had other plans. You’re scared, for sure—and the timing couldn’t be more horrible, with dungeon crawling while hunting for royal arms and trying to avoid imperial capture—but you know that Prompto’s a good man, and you’re surrounded by the strongest fighters and the best friends that you could ever ask for. 

“Names,” whispers Prompto. “We gotta start thinking of names.” 

“Prom,” you chuckle into his chest. “We don’t even know the sex yet.” 

“Oh,” says Prompto. “Right.” 

You pull away, stomach gurgling. “C’mon, let’s go get those fries. And then we can tell the guys the good news.” 

Prompto smiles and grabs your free hand, leading you out into the night. 


End file.
